


Smokers Outside the Hospital Doors

by Neeka



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Post-All Out War Arc (Walking Dead), Pre-Slash, Separation, deadly virus, pre-daryl/jesus, uneven time frames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 01:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neeka/pseuds/Neeka
Summary: They’d survived the war, survived Negan, survived everything their shitty world threw at them. They shouldn’t be taken out like this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syrabylene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrabylene/gifts).



_Fuck_ , it’d been a long week. An important one yes, not to mention needed, but damn it had dragged. Daryl couldn’t help but be struck by a creeping sadness and melancholy that any time spent with his family could feel so tense, so uncertain, that every moment stretched to an hour. It was so alien to how they all used to be and Daryl never realised how much he took that for granted. He wanted it back; that easy closeness, that utter, bone deep belief that they all had each other’s backs, that they were a single unit against the rest of their fucked up world.

Then Negan came. He did more than just terrorise their communities, more than just kill people they loved, he became the unending thorn in their side. The one that was still keeping Daryl’s whole family at odds with each other, simply by continuing to breathe.

He took another long drag of his cigarette, barely even noticing the staleness of them anymore, just grateful for whatever momentary calm the nicotine gave him as he sat on the steps of the theatre and looked out over the Kingdom. It’d been a good idea to hold the meeting here, somewhere mostly neutral for Maggie and Rick, somewhere neither of them felt fully comfortable or in control. Not to mention free of the fucking pest that haunted the basement prison of Alexandria.

The leaders and their advisors were still inside, still arguing over the little things as though they were important, as though what aid got sent where, which baskets of produce they traded for another, actually meant anything. Daryl had to duck out, had to take a moment to just breathe, to escape the stifling tension between two of the people he cared about most in this world. Hearing them speak about crates of eggs and spear heads with the underlying pain and anger from Rick’s decision to keep Negan alive was too much for him.

He was just so angry, _still_ , every moment of every day. He was getting better, he knew that, but seeing Rick again had brought back all those feelings; the rage, the betrayal, the haunting memories of humiliation and suffering at the hands of the person Rick refused to make pay. Maggie’s screams as she was denied her revenge, her peace of mind.

It’d been months since that day, but he could still never quite manage to get that sound out of his head.

He loved Rick, he was his brother, but he just couldn’t shake those feelings, not yet anyway. It was the first meeting of the leaders of the three main communities, the first time they’d all really been together since the war finished, and Daryl had prepared for it to go bad. So far nothing had been said outright, but it felt like it was building and he didn’t trust himself enough to be around that.

They’d barely spoken to each other the entire week.

Forcing his breathing to calm, using the techniques Paul showed him, Daryl watched the Kingdom move around him. It’d taken a beating, all their communities had, but it was picking itself up well. No doubt Carol had a large hand in that and Daryl was so immensely proud of her it hurt. It was a good place, even now, and it’d continue to grow into something that could last.

But as good of a place as it was, he found he was yearning to go back to Hilltop.

Daryl had long ago given up on any kind of notion of home. Seeing his first go up in flames and taking his momma with it had shaken his belief in the permanence of any kind of safety or comfort. After that, he just had places he existed in. The prison had been the first place that started to feel like home, like somewhere he could see himself being until his number was up. Then that went up in smoke too.

He’d put up a good fight, he really had, but in the end, Hilltop and its people had sunk their hooks into his bones before he’d even realised. Now, all he wanted was to return.

And in his more self aware moments, Daryl knew exactly who was responsible for that. Especially after what happened the morning he set off for the Kingdom. When-

A small body joined him on the step with a sigh, Carol’s familiar, worn hands appearing into view as she stole the cigarette from his shaky grip and took a drag. He’d seen her the most out of his split up family in the months since the war ended; not as often as he’d have liked, but both of them had made the trip a few times, the last being a month ago when he and Paul returned one of their cars that Daryl finally got working again. Even so, it settled him to have her near again, especially when everything else seemed to be falling apart.

“It’s not the end you know Daryl?” She said into the silence. “Might seem it now, but it won’t last forever. Families change, but they don’t stop being family. This won’t change us.”

He sighed and leant into her side. “Don’t know ‘bout that this time. Maggie won’t stop wantin’ him dead and Rick won’t stop keepin’ him alive. If one wins, one looses. Shit situation all round.”

She didn’t try to talk him round, didn’t often any pointless comments or reassurances, because both of them knew damn well it was a tricky situations, one that might never have a satisfactory ending for everyone.

After a few moments of silence, Carol nudged him gently. “So what’s new at Hilltop then?”

Maybe once he’d have answered with a gruff ‘nothin’ or maybe just a shrug. Now however? Now he had _words_ again.

Daryl told her about the improvements they’d made since he last spoke to her; how they’d expanded the fields, how they were starting to cobble together building plans for more housing, how their pig had just given birth. He felt himself burying a smile as he recounted the last scavenging trip he went on with Paul, the both of them gone for a week long run that stretched a little longer than intended. It’d been a good trip, despite the herd that came through the town they were picking through, stranding them in a book store for two days.

Daryl was sure he’d never seen anyone so happy at the prospect of being trapped in a building by a ravenous pack of the walking dead. Pretty sure he’d never seen a nicer smile on anyone either.

“You and Jesus are close huh?”

If his heart skipped a beat at her question, he hoped it didn’t show. He lit up a new cigarette just to have something to do with his hands. And buy him a few seconds.

“Mhm,” he finally answered. “S’pose so.”

Daryl could feel her looking at him but he kept his eyes fixed firmly out at the Kingdom, trying to keep his face as still as he could. She could always read him too well.

“He’s a good guy you know?” She said, voice kind. “Not sure I ever told you that. I’m glad you met each other.”

Her words, whilst seemingly simple, were packed with so much underlying meaning that it felt like being stabbed.

If he was ever going to say anything, Daryl would never find out what it was, as at that moment he heard Maggie’s raised voice coming from the room behind him. With an awkward little nudge to Carol’s shoulder, knowing she’d understand him, Daryl took the opportunity to run away. Some things were just too much and too difficult to talk about. Especially when he was still kicking himself.

The tension in the room when he entered could be cut with a knife. Honestly, he felt sorry for Ezekiel, getting caught in a passive aggressive argument between Maggie and Rick.

“You can’t always make all the damn decisions Rick!” She shouted, eyes spitting fire as she stared Rick down on the opposite side of the table. “I’ve got just as much right as you to decide the future of my community!”

“And I ain’t arguing that!” He shot back, the old familiar ‘I’m right and burdened with knowledge’ expression clear on his face. “But you’re still new to this! I just think for our first big trade between all of us, there needs to be one person coordinating it.”

“What if someone doesn’t agree with your decisions huh? You just gonna ignore them? Again?!”

“I will if they can’t see the bigger picture!”

“Bigger picture?! Oh fuc-“

“Shut up!”

Daryl couldn’t stand to listen to anymore, shouting out before he realised he’d decided to get involved. Both of them turned to glare at him, chests heaving in anger, obviously dying to carry on their fight. 

“This is pointless! You ain’t arguin’ about the trade and ya both know it! You’re wasting everyone’s time tryin’ to fight without sayin’ what you’re fightin’ about. This shit’s gone on long enough. Either talk about what you really wanna talk about or step back. Coz this ain’t helpin’ no one.”

They carried on staring at him. As much as he loved his brother, if he didn’t stop looking so damn surprised when Daryl opened his mouth, let alone when some sense fell out of it, he was going to punch him. Maggie thankfully wasn’t surprised at all, if anything she was relieved. She’d wanted an opportunity to have it out with Rick for months, to hear from his own mouth why she was denied her revenge and more than that, her peace of mind. Rick never gave her that opening before and when she tried, she was framed as causing trouble. Maybe now they could actually _talk_.

Maggie nodded, taking a calming breath and turning back to Rick. “Daryl’s right. How could you do that Rick? How could you keep him alive? After everything?! How could you betray me like that huh? Betray Glenn?”

“Betray? I never betr-“

The door slammed open, all of them turning to see Carol stood in the doorway, face pale. Her eyes went immediately to Daryl and he felt his heart stop. He knew in his bones something had happened at Hilltop.

“Carol? What is it?”

He faintly heard Maggie’s words, but he couldn’t do anything but keep staring at Carol, his whole body frozen in fear. She looked at Maggie, but her eyes returned to him.

“It’s Hilltop. It’s bad.”

 

———

 

When he was ever so kindly informed that he’d be staying behind to run Hilltop in Maggie’s absence, Paul was, in a word, unimpressed. In a few more words, he was absolutely fucking shitting himself.

He was not a leader. He had never been a leader. He never _wanted_ to be a leader.

Paul was perfectly happy to do his thing behind the scenes, to do whatever odd job, dangerous or otherwise, that was needed. Yeah, he had to admit that he ran things behind the scenes when Gregory was in charge, but that was a necessity, something he only did because the place would have fallen to rack and ruin if Gregory was left to do everything.

But even then, it was hardly what could be called ‘leading’. Paul was self aware enough to know he could be a sneaky little shit when need be, not to mention his gift for gentle manipulation. Sure they were exactly what was called for in that situation but only ever behind the scenes, hardly being characteristics that made a good leader.

Not long after he’d turned up at Hilltop and took in the lay of the land, he realised Gregory had been put in charge largely because he gave off a veritable cloud of entitlement, bravado and a need to be ‘the boss’. It made scared people who didn’t have Paul’s skills at reading people, believe that he had the answers, that he’d know what to do. Honestly, they were lucky a real problem hadn’t swooped down on them long ago because there was no way Gregory could truly have lead them through it.

It didn’t take Paul long to realise that even with something as simple as a dwindling food supply and a lack of runners, Gregory and the whole community was starting to lose it. So he stepped in. He used all of his charm, all of his tricks to get people to like him quickly, to trust him. He worked his way in with Gregory and let the old man believe he was at his beck and call, even as his obvious relief at having someone to help was plain to see. Then he made sure the rest of the community knew to come to him before Gregory, so he could always make sure he pitched things to him in ways that he’d agree. The rest of his time and energy was then spent running around their ruined little world to get whatever was needed.

But no matter how much of a hand he had in keeping Hilltop going then, it was a vastly different arrangement to the one he’d found himself all but forced at gunpoint into now.

Because Paul was a part of the community now in a way he’d never been before. Yes he’d always genuinely liked the people at Hilltop, even as he sometimes despaired of them, but he’d always managed to keep himself separate from them. He liked to run too much, always had, and the idea of being any kind of constant to people was terrifying. To the people of Hilltop, he was a figure, a safe face that they could trust but didn’t feel any real personal connection to. How could they? They hardly knew him.

Then everything went to shit; Negan came, Paul found the Alexandrians, the war. All those things forced him to stick around, to let them in more, to let them _see_ him. Months after the war had finished, Paul knew he was irrevocably linked to Hilltop and all its people in a way he’d never expected or even wanted.

Which made the idea of being responsible for everyone, even for just a little while, all the more terrifying.

What if he made mistakes? What if he wasn’t enough? What if his decisions or actions ended up spoiling the wonderful thing that Maggie was building? It was a responsibility he never wanted to have and certainly didn’t feel like he was good enough for.

Hell, though she’d never said it, Paul knew Maggie must have thought so in some way too. Daryl had been her first pick after all, not him.

But denying the orders of a very pregnant, very fierce Maggie and a haunted looking Daryl ended up too much for Paul to manage. Hence the shit situation that he was regretting and worrying about more and more as the hours since they’d left dragged on. 

Paul’s only saving grace was his refusal to really change any of his day to day jobs, he’d just have more added on top. He moved around Hilltop as normal, working his way through his laundry list of jobs as well as dealing with the usual tasks of leadership. The thought of running the place from Maggie’s office nearly made him reach for the vodka he absolutely did _not_ have hidden away in his trailer after Daryl shot-gunned it on a run but ‘lost’ in their escape from walkers. Despite knowing Daryl almost certainly figured out he’d stolen it, half the fun for them both was in the cat and mouse game to hide/find the bottle.

It wasn’t until the day was drawing to a close that he really allowed himself to admit he wasn’t all that looking forward for heading back to an empty trailer. 

Daryl staying with him had been such an easy thing, something that neither of them really thought to question. It didn’t take Paul long to realise he actually liked it. His trailer had always been his safe place, the one bit of peace and solitude when he was within Hilltop’s walls. He offered it up to Maggie, Sasha and Enid without a moments hesitation and was glad he did, but he did miss his solitude.

What he told Maggie was true of course, he was used to having a lot of people around, but he never said he always enjoyed it. Surprisingly enough, having Daryl living there was just as comfortable as if he was on his own, a thought he refused to examine further for a long time, but that spoke volumes never the less. 

As the sun began to set, Paul decided to stave off heading to his empty trailer a little longer by checking in on Mrs Williams. She’d lived in the trailer next to his since before he’d even arrived at Hilltop and despite her age, she was fierce. Not to mention one of their best cooks. 

Paul knocked on her trailer, already hearing the hacking coughs coming from inside. The door opened, but it wasn’t Mrs Williams who stood there.

“Oh! Jesus, hi!”

The young girl at the door blushed, ducking her head and tucking her hair behind her ears. Maggie had gently alerted him to the fact he had an admirer after he noticed the girl kept staring at him and he had to admit, he found it adorable. Kathy had come over from Oceanside for a visit and somehow ended up staying. She was only thirteen and had no family left; her mother was killed early, right at the start and her father died when Negan attacked the community. After a few visits to Hilltop, she seemed to really fit in, though Paul was sure it had a lot to do with the woman still coughing away in her trailer.

“Hello Kathy, how’re you? Is Mrs Williams doing okay?”

Her blush faded a bit, worry clear on her face. “I don’t know, she won’t stop coughing. Sometimes she can’t even catch her breath! I’ve been making her tea and trying to bring her temperature down but nothing seems to be working.”

“It’s okay Kathy, I’m sure you’re doing everything you can. Could I come in and check on her?”

She nodded and stepped away, the two of them entering the small but incredibly cosy trailer. From the look of it, you’d never guess there was anything wrong with the world at all, the whole place just dripping in comfort and character. It was no wonder Kathy chose to stay.

“She’s in her bedroom. Wasn’t pleased about it, you know what she’s like, but she’s weaker than yesterday. Rest is the only thing I can think of right now. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you though.”

He thanked her and smiled, fondness rushing through him as she blushed again. Paul headed towards the bedroom, already not liking the sound of that coughing.

Paul knocked on the door and went inside, not wanting to force her to speak to admit him entrance. It was dim inside but when he got a good look at the woman lying in the bed, he felt worry settle deep in his stomach. She looked terrible, a far sight from the well groomed and sturdy woman she usually was; skin pale with flushed, sweaty cheeks, her breathing laboured between her hacking coughs. It really didn’t just look like a cough or even the flu anymore.

He walked forward and slowly lowered himself into the chair beside her bed. The fact it took her a few seconds to realise he was there, then a few more to even recognise him at all, worried Paul more.

“Hi Mrs Williams, how’re you today?”

He spoke gently to her, noticing how her face screwed up at the sound of his voice. She must have a hell of a headache too.

“Not too good Jesus,” she croaked, voice so horse and pained it was almost impossible to hear. “Just a cough though. Be fine soon.”

Whether she was trying to convince herself or him, Paul didn’t know, but he was sure it had moved well beyond the stage of a simple cough. With Siddiq travelling with Maggie in case of complications with her so far along in her pregnancy, he knew they couldn’t even get a professional opinion on her condition. And nothing they could properly do to help her. The thought sent a jolt of sadness through him, especially knowing what it would do to Kathy if Mrs Williams couldn’t fight the illness off.

Paul took her hand, noting how dry and papery it felt, and smiled at her. “When did you start feeling ill? How did it start? And what symptoms do you have?”

She shot him a tired grin. “You a doctor now too? Knew you were a man of many talents, but I was sure you ain’t been to medical school.”

“No, I’m not,” he admitted with a laugh, feeling a measure of relief that she was still herself enough to give him a bit of shit. “But if I can get a general idea of what happened, maybe I can figure out how to help. I might not be a doctor, but you may have noticed, I’m a pretty excellent scavenger.”

“Yeah yeah, you work miracles, yadda yadda.”

He laughed at her again, but quickly stopped as she started coughing into her handkerchief again, great hacking things that shook her whole body and didn’t seem to want to stop. Trying to keep his worry from showing on his face, Paul reached for her water jug, pouring her a glass and waiting for her to stop. When she finally did, he handed her the water with a smile, though she hardly seemed to notice either at first; all the coughing really sapped her energy.

Once she finally took the glass, Paul was able to see that the white of her handkerchief was stained red.

 

———

 

There were many times in Daryl’s life when he’d felt bone deep, blood freezing fear. He’d felt it a fair few times as a kid; stood outside his burning house not sure who was inside, when his daddy came home piss drunk and angry, when Meryl and his tweaker friends kept digging and digging at him, calling him names that hit a little too close. He’d felt it plenty of times after the end of the world too, more times than he could count.

But somehow, none of that measured up to the way his heart felt like it stuttered and stopped in his chest, his stomach twisting painfully, a heavy and cold concrete weight settling over his body.

“What is it? What happened?”

Daryl heard Maggie speak and was grateful for her ability to stay in control. He couldn’t even unglue his mouth.

Carol came inside and shut the door, moving to stand next to Daryl, subtly leaning into him, like she knew he needed it. Hell she probably did, Carol always seemed to have the measure of him, like some kind of sixth sense.

“A runner just came from Alexandria. They’re fine Rick, nothing happened there, but they got a message on the long distance radio from Hilltop.” She took a breath and Daryl tried to prepare himself for whatever it was he might hear, but whether he prepared or not, he knew whatever came out of her mouth next could finally push him over the edge, finally break him enough that he’d never put himself back together again.

He’d tried not to think about it before, he really had, denial had become his best friend recently, but as he stood there waiting for what could be world ending news for him, Daryl had to admit that not only did Hilltop mean everything to him now, but he knew he couldn’t stand to loose their temporary leader.

Somehow, Paul had become one of the most important people in his entire life; past, present or future. He _needed_ him to be okay.

“It was Jesus. He needs Siddiq-”

Whatever was said after that was lost in the white, screaming fog in Daryl’s head. So that was that then. Something bad had happened at Hilltop. Paul needed Siddiq. Could be hurt. Could be- could be dead.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch.

“Hey. Daryl? You with us?”

That was Rick’s voice. Even through his lingering feelings of betrayal and anger, he couldn’t help but take comfort from the familiar tones. He couldn’t even look at Maggie. Couldn’t handle seeing more pain on her face.

“Come on Daryl, we need you to focus here. This sounds similar to what happened at the prison. We need to get to Alexandria with Siddiq and figure out what to do. We’ll need you if we have to make a run.”

Prison?

“What?” He managed to croak out, voice sounding wrecked even to him.

“You hear any of that?” Rick asked, eyes narrowed as they roamed over Daryl’s face, like he was figuring something out. Daryl managed to shake his head in response.

Maggie nudged Rick out of the way, standing in front of him and grabbing both of his shoulders. She looked worried, scared, but not heartbroken. Not in the way she would have if-

“It’s not what you think Daryl,” she said quietly, leaning closer to him. “He’s alive. He’s okay so far as we know.”

If it wasn’t for her hands on his shoulders and Rick’s piercing, calculating gaze on him, Daryl was pretty sure his legs would have given out. 

“What happened.” He forced out past numb lips, a strange rush of relief and renewed worry flowing through his body. Paul was _alive_. He was alive and whatever the problem was, Daryl would make sure he stayed that way, the rest of Hilltop too. Whatever it took.

“There’s been some kind of outbreak. An illness of some kind, sounds like the prison. People coughing up blood and high fevers so far. Hilltop’s been quarantined.”

Fuck, not that again. “Anyone dead?”

She hesitated before nodding, face downcast. “Yeah. I don’t... I don’t know who yet. The runner didn’t say. But yeah, people have died.”

Fear swelled in him again, but it was different now. He could still fight, could still go on a run to find meds, whatever was needed. That hopeless emptiness had drained away.

 

———

 

Things went downhill fast, faster than he’d ever thought possible even with the sparse details he’d managed to get out of Daryl about what happened at the prison. He knew they’d had an outbreak, a bad one, and that they lost the lions share of their community. Despite his nickname, Paul was far from religious, but even he couldn’t help but pray it wouldn’t get that far, wouldn’t get any worse than it already had.

Mrs Williams died first. He should have _known_ , should have seen it coming, should have figured out how to stop it. But he didn’t. Paul let her convince him that it’d be fine, that she was an old lady who knew what a cough felt like, even if the blood she frequently hacked up was a concern. He should have known it was more serious.

He left that night, left her in the care of Kathy. How could he be so fucking stupid? It was all his fault.

Mrs Williams died and turned in the early hours of the next morning. She turned and Kathy was right there, sleeping in the chair by the old lady’s bedside. Kathy had thought she’d needed help. That’s what she’d babbled to Paul as he’d held her, blood gushing from the bite on her neck.

He’d heard her scream from his trailer, but only got there in time to put Mrs Williams down and drag her body off Kathy.

It was too late. He was always too late.

Kathy Brooke died in his arms after she was bitten by the woman who’d become her family. She was thirteen years old.

Things moved quick after that. It seemed like mere seconds after he’d finished burying them with his own two hands, that someone else got sick, then another, then a handful. Three days after Mrs William’s had died from it, they’d lost three more people and nearly half of Hilltop had started to develop the symptoms. Some were well on their way to what Paul believed was the end stage.

He’d sat with all but one of the people who’d died, he owed it to them. Their eyes didn’t bleed, so it couldn’t be the same as the prison exactly, but it wasn’t pretty. Joseph went next, a grumpy but kind older man Paul himself had found and brought back to Hilltop. Paul held his hand and talked to him as the high fever refused to be brought under control, blood and fluid filling his lungs until he just stopped breathing with a painful sounding shudder. Paul tried to bring him back, to give him mouthless CPR, but it was futile, he was already gone. He closed Joseph’s eyes and stabbed him in the brain, all the while remembering the man’s songs as he cared for the animals of Hilltop or tended the fields.

Paul knew them all too well now. He wasn’t separate from them anymore and it hurt even worse than he’d feared to lose them, to have to hold their hands and comfort them as they died, to bury them.

But no matter how much it hurt, no matter what the colder, self preservation focused side of him said, he was glad to have known Joseph’s songs and Mrs Williams’ cooking, glad to have a winter sweater that Janet had knitted him. He was glad to have seen Kathy’s sweet smiles.

“You should really take a break Jesus. You’re wearing yourself out too fast. If you go down, then where will we be?”

Paul looked up at Dante from where he was sat on the steps outside the infirmary, always on guard for people turning or someone calling for help. He’d have stayed right next to the sick permanently if he could, but he still had so many things to do and handle around Hilltop, especially during such a crisis.

But despite his exhaustion and bone deep worry, Paul pulled on a smile for Dante. He couldn’t let any of them see him break, he had to hold it together, hold everything together for them.

“I’m fine Dante, really. Just needed a breather. How are you feeling? Any symptoms?”

Dante thankfully shook his head. “Nah, I’m doing fine so far thank God. What about you?” His eyes narrowed as he looked Paul over. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m okay Dante, honestly.” He said, trying to inject as much sincerity and reassurance into his voice as possible. “Just a little tired.”

It wasn’t a lie exactly. He just didn’t mention the catch he’d started to feel in his breathing.

 

———

 

They were packed and ready to depart within an hour, but even that felt decades too long for Daryl. Every minute that passed was another minute people at Hilltop could be suffering and dying. Every minute he didn’t know exactly what was happening physically hurt him, deep in his chest. He needed to be there, needed to know what he could do to help, to fix it. He needed to hear from Paul.

Maggie knew, she understood, grabbing his hand in hers whenever he felt himself drift off into panic. He needed to get it together, but it was harder than he’d ever admit.

If he got there and something was wrong with Paul, he’d never forgive himself. It was his fault Paul was left behind after all.

Fuck, he should have stayed, just like Maggie wanted. He should have sucked it up and not given in to his damn fear, that constant worry ever since the prison that anything and anyone he was left in charge of would end up dead or screwed. Daryl knew he’d fucked up so many times, it only felt logical that he’d continue that pattern.

He hadn’t even explained that to Paul, but in the end, he knew he didn’t have to. Paul always seemed to understand him, was always there to help or support him.

Daryl should have been there for Paul.

He knew the other man hated leading too, that it bothered him on a base level, the thought of so many people looking to him, depending on him in such an open way. It always confused Daryl, since he knew Paul had kept that whole damn community going before they’d met, but he should know that things like that didn’t always make sense and couldn’t always be reasoned away.

Paul had done so much for him, right from when they first met, the least he could have done was do that one thing for him instead of leaving him no choice but to do something that panicked him so obviously.

If he could just get to Hilltop and find Paul okay, he’d never be selfish again, never leave him to anything like that again. Hell, if Daryl had his way, he wouldn’t leave him period.

The journey to Alexandria was taking an age, Daryl constantly fighting the urge to just gun his bike all the way there and leave the others to catch up. He’d argued against going to Alexandria first, wanting to get to Hilltop and see with his own two eyes what was going on, but Maggie convinced him. They needed to hear from Hilltop first, to get a better idea what was happening before they turned up, not to mention collecting more medical supplies. The Kingdom had sent them off with some things that Siddiq had selected, but no community could spare a lot of their medical supplies, no matter how much they wanted to.

Still, the thought of not only being away from Hilltop for even longer, but having to actually step foot inside Alexandria again, set off a twisting feeling in Daryl’s stomach. He knew Maggie was dreading it too, as neither of them had been back since the end of the war. But for now, there were more important things than their feelings. Daryl had let his fear take over before and it had landed Paul stuck at Hilltop, he would _not_ make that mistake again.

 

———

 

Two more days and everything went to hell. The virus that hit them sped up, taking more people with it. They lost four more people no matter what Paul tried; IV fluids, keeping their temperature down with elderberry tea, plying them with the ibuprofen that was left, anything he could think of. With his limited knowledge and supplies, that was all they could do. It just wasn’t enough.

It only seemed right that he should get struck down with the virus too. If he couldn’t save them, he should at least suffer _with_ them.

Fitting though it was, Paul couldn’t deny that it fucking sucked. He was trying to keep it to himself for as long as he could, knowing that the people of Hilltop were looking to him to lead them, to help them. To save them. He didn’t want to scare them with the fact he was just as sick too.

He’d tried to radio Alexandria so many times over the past two days, but it must be off on their end. Eugene had done an incredible job setting up the long distance radio, but it was notoriously temperamental at times. Something must have happened to it that required repairs at exactly the worst time. Murphy’s law. All he could do was keep trying.

Declaring a quarantine on Hilltop was difficult, even if it was necessary. The as of yet healthy members of Hilltop had panicked, demanding to be let out, to be able to escape to one of the other communities. Paul had tried to keep everyone calm, to explain to them that even if they hadn’t gotten sick yet, they’d been exposed. They could be carriers, could spread it to the other communities, or they could just simply not have come down with it yet. Either way, he couldn’t risk the rest of their hard won world falling to a bastard _virus_.

Still, it didn’t stop a few from panicking and wanting to leave. Fear made people stupid, made them selfish, and in their minds it was worth it if they got away from the plague that had struck them. Which was why Paul was currently on watch at the gates, guarding Hilltop from people coming in or trying to get out. It was also the first time he’d managed to catch a breath, to be alone, since it all started.

Whenever a hacking cough came over him, he muffled it as best he could, waiting with the heavy sense of inevitability for the blood that would indicate he’d entered what looked like end stage. His head was pounding, his whole body ached and his rising temperature wasn’t helping anything. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew he should be resting with the rest of the sick, but Paul just couldn’t justify it, couldn’t accept making someone else pick up the slack, not when he was needed.

So he ran himself ragged; he barely slept, too worried that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to get himself going again, he checked on each of the infected and did whatever he could to help or simply comfort them, and he organised those still healthy, making sure they had everything they needed in Barrington.

All in all, he was utterly _exhausted_ , tired on an entirely different level than he could ever remember being. Paul needed some quiet, needed to breathe in the fresh evening air and try not to worry about who the virus would take in the night.

But the downside of having a moment to think, was that Paul’s mind immediately turned to the two most important people in his life. The people that, should nothing improve, should no cure be found, he might have to leave.

Paul had never worried about leaving anyone before. Even before everything went to shit, he was always happy to pick up sticks and move on. Then after the world ended, people were loosing their families, their loved ones, their _children_ , people far more important than him. He didn’t mean shit to anyone, wasn’t anything to anyone, so why would he be someone they’d miss? Even at Hilltop, Paul was an asset, someone who could get a job done. Sure, they might miss that they had someone in their group like that, but not him as a person. And he was perfectly okay with that.

Now? Now he had a whole community that had finally gotten to him, finally felt connected to him. He knew people all over their communities, would actually go so far as to call them friends. It was still strange to think he’d be missed if he died, but he knew he would.

If that was the extent of it, Paul would even find himself comforted by it, able to die knowing that his little, unimportant life would be remembered with fondness by a few.

But Maggie and Daryl? That was something entirely different. Paul couldn’t claim just a casual, warm friendship with them, couldn’t pretend they’d be sad for a moment or two then move on with him in their memories, to maybe be thought of from time to time.

He knew them too well, knew how much they’d already lost. For some reason, they’d both taken Paul into their lives, both cared for him, and he knew if he died, it would truly hurt them.

Maggie was the best friend he’d ever had, she was more like his sister really. He’d forgotten what it was like to have a family until she’d dragged him into her world, her confidence and her heart. He didn’t want to make her lose yet another member of her family. He wanted to be there for her when she gave birth, he wanted to see her baby, be their uncle. He wanted to be around to see what else she did with Hilltop, how else she made it flourish.

And Daryl. Fuck, if Paul saw him every day for the rest of his life, it still wouldn’t be enough. He never meant to get so attached, he really didn’t, but something about Daryl drew Paul in from the start and the more he learnt about him, the more time he spent with him, he felt that bond get stronger.

Paul was well aware of his own issues and shortcomings, and he knew he struggled getting close to people, so to end up latching on to _Daryl_ , someone potentially even more closed off and issue riddled than himself, seemed beyond stupid. But it wasn’t, it just worked. It progressed so easily and so naturally that he barely even noticed it, only the surprised looks and odd comments from the people who knew Daryl well drawing attention to the fact Daryl was different with him.

Paul wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t blind, but for the longest time, he’d been sure it was only wishful thinking, just his shaky, inexperienced heart hoping that what he felt was returned in some way.

Then came the morning of Daryl’s departure, when they’d been a split second away from finally kissing.

 

———

 

Michonne was waiting for them at the gate as they finally, finally reached and entered Alexandria. She looked worried, an expression that rarely showed on her face, and the sight of it made Daryl’s legs feel weak.

Had something happened? Had they taken too long getting here? Had she heard from Hilltop again, from Paul?

He turned off his bike and didn’t even bother with the kickstand, just jumping off and leaving it lying on the ground as he stalked to Michonne.

“What happened?” He growled out at her, ignoring the looks he got from Rick and Maggie as they got out of the car, feeling like he could rip the world apart with his own two hands if it got him the information he needed.

Michonne didn’t react at first, just stared at him, examining him almost. It would have made him squirm if he wasn’t so keyed up. Rick and Maggie caught up, Carol and Siddiq following behind, the two leaders moving to stand to one side of him. Daryl could feel the way he was still being looked at, he just didn’t care.

“We should talk inside,” Michonne finally said, casting her eyes around her, drawing Daryl’s attention to the fact there were people milling around. Like he gave a fuck.

“No, tell me now!”

“Daryl,” came Rick’s calm but insistent voice as he stepped closer to him. “Let’s go inside so we can get all the information. There’s no point in scarin’ everyone right now. We’ll just get stuck dealing with worried people instead of focusin’ on what we need to do.”

He put a hand on Daryl’s shoulder but he shrugged it off, feeling like he was buzzing out of his skin, before stalking towards Rick’s house. He refused to look around at the almost rebuilt Alexandria, refused to notice when he walked passed Glenn and Maggie’s old place, refused to look at the house he’d had homemade spaghetti with Aaron and Eric. Refused to even mentally consider the house at the end of the street with the jail in the basement.

Being back in Alexandria was like someone quietly and methodically scrapping away at raw nerves, partially but not quite hidden under the all consuming fear eating away at him from Hilltop’s situation.

What details did Michonne know right now that he didn’t? She was obviously tense, obviously worried and fuck, the way she’d _looked_ at him. Would she soon deliver the news that would break him down to dust? Would that morning at Hilltop be the last happy memory he had there?

“Daryl?”

Carol’s quiet voice next to him still made him flinch, too busy standing in front of Rick’s house and playing through the various ways his life could change any moment. He didn’t reply, just opened the door and headed straight to the big table, where they’d planned so many missions and runs, where they’d eaten or talked. Where they’d even interrogated a clever stranger. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

The rest sat but Daryl couldn’t, feet glued to the floor as he stared straight at Michonne.

“Okay Michonne,” Maggie said, her voice full of the strength of leadership, a role she fitted like no other. “What’s happened.”

With a quick glance at Daryl, Michonne exhaled. “Yesterday evening we received a call from Hilltop. The radio had been broken for a few days and Eugene had only just finished it. It was from Jesus.”

Even his name set Daryl on edge, knowing that he was either sick himself or stuck doing a job he never wanted for this very reason. He knew the guilt and helplessness from watching the people of Hilltop succumb to the illness would be eating away at him.

Michonne told them what Jesus had said; that some highly contagious virus had broken out, that its symptoms were severe and had resulted in the death of eight people so far, with many more sick. Siddiq pressed her more on the virus’ details but she didn’t have any more to give. He started scribbling on his notepad regardless and Daryl hoped to fuck he was filling it with tried and tested ways to cure them all. Like they’d ever been that lucky.

Daryl felt sick, knowing how much the people of Hilltop must be suffering. He didn’t know who’d died yet and for now, he was glad of it. He knew everyone’s names now, cared for all of them in some way, losing any of them would be yet another cut on his scarred soul.

“What about Paul?”

The words were out of his mouth before he even realised it, all eyes turning back on him. Maggie’s face crumpled just a little, the same fear reflecting back at him and for a second he regretted he’d spoken at all. It was hard enough for her hearing about what was happening to her community without him reminding her that her closest friend was trapped there too. The person they’d both left there.

But he _needed_ to know. If Paul was okay, Daryl could breath a bit easier, could get his head in gear for doing whatever needed doing to save Hilltop. If he wasn’t? Well, quarantine be damned.

Michonne studied him for a moment, dark eyes reading him too intently for his liking, before she squared her shoulders. “I don’t know Daryl, he didn’t say. He sounded tired.”

He didn’t reply, no one did, and moments later they were back to planning. Her answer should have reassured him, at least to some degree, but it hadn’t. Daryl knew damn well that Paul could be dying and he still wouldn’t say a word.

 

———

 

Paul was so busy trying to clear the blood from his airway that he almost missed Michonne’s voice coming through the radio.

“Jesus? Jesus is that you? Do you copy?”

With one last hacking cough, Paul was able to breathe a little better, spitting a mouthful of blood into a rag and scrambling for the radio.

“Yes! Yes, I copy,” he choked out, voice wrecked and chest tightening in agony as he spoke. “We’ve been trying to contact you for days!”

“There was a problem on our end, Eugene just got it fixed. What’s the problem?”

She sounded serious as always, but like many of them, she’d lost that crushing weight of fear and uncertainty that haunted all of them during the war. Paul hated that he’d be hearing it again soon.

He took as deep a breath as he could manage without choking again, nails scratching at the few small drops of blood that had fallen onto the desk. “There’s been a situation here. Some kind of virus outbreak.”

Michonne inhaled sharply, obviously remembering what happened at the prison. “How bad?”

“Bad. Seems to start as the flu, just a bad cough really, then it just... gets worse.” He suppressed a rising cough with all he had, swallowing the sickly taste of copper before he could speak again.

“High fevers, body pain and then just, blood filling the lungs. They seem to choke to death on it eventually. We’ve lost eight so far and more are sick than not now. I’ve put a quarantine on Hilltop, this virus spreads too quickly and I don’t want to risk the other communities. But I need to speak to Siddiq, try and get some idea of how to treat this. I’ve done all I know how to do, we all have, but his expertise is desperately needed now or... or I think we’ll lose even more.”

“Shit.”

It wasn’t often that Michonne swore, which further drove home how worried she was. Still, her calm, quiet strength was greatly needed right now. Every hour that passed made him sicker and sicker, temperature rising and body racked with pain, not to mention the blood slowly filling up his lungs. Paul was fighting it as best he could, even as he tried to look after everyone and keep Hilltop running, but he was well aware there was a good chance he just wouldn’t be able to anymore. He needed to know everything was set up, just in case.

“Siddiq is with Maggie at the Kingdom, I’ll send a runner at first light to alert them all. What do you need Jesus?”

Her tone nearly made him slump in relief. She sounded like he could ask for the moon and she’d find a way to make it happen.

“More IV fluids if you have them, we’re nearly out. If you have anything to bring a fever down, some ibuprofen, anything at all, we need it. I’ve been making them elderberry tea for now, I remember Maggie telling me that her father did that at the prison, but at most it’s just helping them hang on. After that, just whatever Siddiq can advise me on. It’s... it’s getting pretty desperate here.”

He almost admitted how afraid he was, how he was sure something he’d done or not done had led to this. He was scared and sick and hurting, his baser instincts crying out for comfort, for someone to take the weight from him and just let him _rest_.

Instead, Paul just swallowed down more bloody saliva and steeled himself. He would stay strong and in control until the exact moment he couldn’t hang on any longer. His very DNA didn’t allow for giving in, it never had.

“We’ll get them here as soon as possible Jesus. We have some supplies we could give you that should help, we just need to figure out how to get it to you.”

“I’d really rather no one comes into Hilltop right now, even briefly. We’ll organise a drop off and hope that it’s far enough away to avoid infection.”

He paused, one particular, sickening fear refusing to leave him. “Look... when Daryl gets there... please Michonne, don’t let him come here. He’ll want to, maybe try to, we both know that. But he can’t help. I don’t want him to get sick and... it’ll just hurt him. Keep him away.”

She was silent for a moment, before she exhaled heavily. “How sick are you Jesus?”

The question caught him off guard, even if it really shouldn’t have. Paul wanted to beg her not to tell Daryl, but to ask that of her would be cruel, both in confirming how serious it was and asking her to lie to someone she called family.

“I’m fine Michonne,” he said finally. “Just tired.”

She wouldn’t believe him, she wasn’t an idiot after all, but he had hope that she could read between the lines and yet also find it within herself to take the plausible deniability.

The fierce tightness in his chest was beginning to increase. He needed to get off the radio or else she’d hear.

“Look Michonne, I have to go now. Please get Siddiq as quick as you can and don’t let anyone into Hilltop, okay? And... tell Maggie I’m sorry.”

“Okay Jesus, I can do that. It’s not your fault though. Just hang on okay? All of you.”

He didn’t say anything before he cut the connection. He couldn’t have even if he wanted to.

The iron band around his lungs tightened and he started coughing, great agonising hacks that brought blood into his mouth.

Paul realised he was in trouble when he couldn’t get a breath back in. Black spots started to swim over his vision as he staggered out of the chair and towards the door.

His last thoughts before his legs gave out were of panic, worry and sadness.

Fuck he wished he could have seen Daryl again


	2. Chapter 2

Hilltop wasn’t answering their hails. They’d been trying to contact them with the radio for hours but they just wouldn’t answer.

Whatever sanity Daryl had managed to cling to for the past few years was slowly slipping away. Hilltop would have know they’d have arrived at Alexandria by now, they’d know Siddiq was waiting to advise them. _Paul_ would know. So why weren’t they answering?

The most likely answer was tearing him up inside.

Maggie had ducked out of the room half an hour or so ago after each of their hails went ignored. Rick had left long before, having to attend to his duties as leader and Michonne stepped away briefly to see to Judith. Daryl had been determined to stay until they were answered, but the thick, oppressive cloud in the room eventually forced him out, leaving Carol and Siddiq to keep trying.

If he had to listen to that damn, empty fuzzing answering them one more time, he’d lose it.

He stepped out into Alexandria and felt like he was stepping into another world. It was all so alien and separate from him now, just a strange, physical reminder of old, hazy memories. So much had changed in such a short time, _he’d_ changed, and being back only dredged up old pain.

But as bad as it felt for him, Daryl knew who it would surely be killing.

He found Maggie exactly where he’d expected, stood still as a graveyard statue in front of her and Glenn’s old house. Their _home_.

It’d remained empty and for that he was glad. It was hard enough seeing it as it was, scorched and bullet ridden, but the thought of seeing it full of new people making new memories, writing over old well loved ones, was too much to stand.

Daryl wondered if Maggie felt the same. He watched her, pale faced and dazed, as she stared at the front porch, her eyes roving over it like she was following ghosts, the afterimages of a happy couple who’d once lived there.

It just didn’t seem right that you could find someone so perfectly meant for you and then just fucking _lose_ them.

“Maggie?”

“I expected him to be here you know?” She said after a moment, voice so hollow and shaky he wanted to burn the world down. “I came here and just... for a second, I actually expected him to be stood there. Waiting for me.”

She was holding her heavily pregnant stomach, hand absently stroking over all she had left of her husband. How she wasn’t going crazy or marching over to the cells with her gun, he’d never know. But Maggie always had played a long game.

For now, all Daryl could think to do was be there for her. He stepped next to her, just letting her know he was there, and managed not to jump when one of her hands grabbed his and held on tight.

“All I want to do right now is go inside, curl up in our old bed and never leave.”

It’d been a long time since Daryl heard her voice sound like that, but he remembered it with a cold, sinking horror. Any second now, Maggie was going to break down and cry.

It happened in slow motion; her face crumpled, eyes filling with tears as her legs wobbled. Daryl could do nothing more than put his arm around her and lead her to sit on the porch, hoping it wouldn’t make everything worse. Then he just held her as she cried.

The guilt he still felt over Glenn’s death had never really left, but he’d realised long ago that it helped nobody, least of all Maggie. It wasn’t her responsibility to reassure him all the time that it wasn’t his fault, she’d done it once and that should be enough. If he wallowed in his guilt, he couldn’t be what she needed. He owed it to Glenn to be there for his wife, to help her and support her in everything, their kid too when it was born.

That was the main reason he first stayed at Hilltop, to make sure she was safe and supported. It didn’t take long for him to realise it was right for himself too; Alexandria had become a tainted place for him, what with the memories, Negan’s continued survival and the stinging pain from Rick’s decision.

Even so, all Hilltop was to him for a while, was simply someplace that wasn’t Alexandria. Daryl could never quite pin point the moment that started to change, the moment he started to know every person there by name, when he started to wake up in the morning with more than just the crushing weight of having to make it through another day.

But whilst he wasn’t sure he’d ever know the exact moment he began to feel at home, he certainly knew who’d dragged him into it. He remembered Paul introducing him to everyone they came across, he remembered early mornings in their trailer, talking with each other or just easy silence. He remembered who it was he looked forward to being around the most on any given day.

One of the things Daryl hated most about himself was his inability to realise or except feelings until it was too late.

No, he couldn’t think like that. It wasn’t too late, it couldn’t be. Everything would work out and they could talk and Daryl would figure out how to stop being so chicken shit. Anything else wasn’t acceptable.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, Maggie crying into his shoulder, Daryl holding her and letting her cry, hoping just being there was some measure of comfort. Eventually, her sobs stopped, her breathing returned to normal and she pulled away enough to wipe her face.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have done that,” she muttered. “I need to keep it together. We don’t get to be upset.”

She sounded worn out, her words empty and rehearsed, like she was quoting something someone once told her.

“Nah, ‘s bullshit. If anyone gets to cry, it’s you. Kept it to yourself long enough and it ain’t good for ya. Cry if ya gotta. Hell, punch someone too if it helps.”

A wet laugh left her, Maggie’s head returning to his shoulder. “You volunteering there huh?”

“Hell nah, I’ve seen your right hook. Not that brave, or stupid.”

“Jesus would. He always said we should start sparring once the baby’s born.”

She sounded sad, resigned even. It hurt deep in his chest, but she didn’t need his worry on top of her own, Daryl needed to do his best to reassure her this time.

“Plenty of time yet. Let me know so I can watch ya kick his ass.” It sounded false even to his ears, but it still got a huff of amusement out of her as she slipped her hand into his. Silence fell and Daryl took the opportunity to deftly light a cigarette one handed, needing something to try and settle the constant worry churning deep in his stomach.

“I know, you know? Bout you two,” she said after a moment, voice quiet and kind as Daryl’s heart tried to burst out of his chest. “You don’t have to say anything, but I do.”

Fuck it. Daryl took a deep drag, held it as long as he could, appreciating the burn, before he exhaled the smoke and nodded. He was too damn tired and too damn _scared_ to waste energy on doing anything else.

“It’s good,” she said gently. “Just seems right. And _you_ seem right, in a way I’ve never seen you before. Something just works.”

And didn’t Daryl just know that too. He’d never felt comfortable in his own skin or his own mind, not once in his entire life; there was always this undercurrent of fear, of hyper vigilance, of _wrong_. It had eased up for a bit, when everything was going well at the prison, when he had a family who actually gave a shit, when he was a part of a community that needed him. When everything went to shit, he lost that comfort too, back to feeling like the mangy but occasionally useful feral dog that followed the real people around.

Daryl never thought he’d get over that. And after Negan and the Sanctuary, he felt so wrong in himself he just wanted to scrape his skin off or stop having to live in it entirely.

But then Paul started hanging around him and didn’t stop. He invited him to live with him, like it was nothing, like giving Daryl somewhere to feel safe was anything less than monumental. Paul talked to him, or more often at him, then listened to him when Daryl started talking back, letting him remember he had words and that they meant something. He started fitting into Hilltop, regaining a dusty, half forgotten side of himself he thought he’d never get back, never _let_ back.

Daryl started feeling like a person again. 

And even through all the worry about the feeling stubbornly growing in his chest, he could never quite seem to force himself to smother it. It had scared him from the moment he realised what it was, it still did in fact, but what’d scared him more, what’d _stopped_ him, was the thought of Paul dying and leaving Daryl with a bleeding, empty space in his life that could never be filled by anyone else. His stupid fear already got in the way once, the morning he left, and he knew now that if the worst did happen, it’d be the biggest regret of his life.

“Can’t lose him Maggie,” he muttered, lump stuck tight in his throat. “Don’t wanna lose any of em. I just- I can’t lose _him_.”

She said nothing for a second, then she moved, taking the nearly finished cigarette from his hand and stubbing it out on the porch before slowly pulling him into a hug. Despite his promise to only give comfort, Daryl couldn’t help but bury his face in her neck and wrap his arms around her. He just needed a minute, then he’d get it together again.

He barely got a few seconds before Carol came jogging around the corner. Daryl saw her before Maggie did and he felt his heart stop. He wished he could just ignore her, just bury his head in Maggie’s neck and not have to see the look on her face, not have to hear whatever it was she came to say. He’d thought waiting was the worst, but now all he wanted to do was live in the blissful unknown. 

Maggie must have felt him tense. Hell, maybe she felt his heart just fucking _stop_. Either way, she pulled away and turned to see Carol. She must have picked up on the same things as he did, her hand gripping his like a vice, like it was all that was keeping her tethered. Stupid idea. If the worst had happened, there’d be nothing left of him to tether on to.

“Carol?”

“Hilltop’s got in contact.”

She was tense. Avoiding saying the whole of what she knew. Maggie’s hand tightened again.

“Who was it? Who made contact?”

Carol hesitated, then spoke.

“Dante.”

 

———

 

Everything hurt. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All he knew was the taste of blood and hurting bones, chest crushed by something he couldn’t see or move, no matter how hard he tried to push it or buck it off. There were people near him, talking, _shouting_. He tried to speak but couldn’t, just cough and choke and hurt.

There was something important, something screaming in the back of his head but it was getting too dark and too hard to think.

 

———

 

Daryl was pretty sure the only thing that kept him on his feet as they walked to the radio was Maggie’s death grip on his arm and Carol’s eyes on his back. He still didn’t take in anything as they walked; his head was an echoing cavern with horrible thoughts of grief and pain bouncing from one side to the other, getting louder and louder with each return.

They reached the room with the radio when Carol peeled off, he vaguely heard her say she was going for Rick and Michonne, before she left them with a quick, gentle press of her hand against his shoulder.

Siddiq was already talking with Dante on the radio, talking him through something technical and medical. Maggie headed straight to the chair next to Siddiq and sat down heavily, plucking the mouth piece out of his hand with a nod. Daryl could only stand there, legs cemented to the floor as he watched and listened.

“Dante, it’s me. What’s happened?” She sounded tense but in control, an immovable force as always. Daryl was grateful for it. He felt like every atom in his body was shaking apart.

“Maggie? Oh thank God.” The relief in his voice was tangible. “Listen Maggie, don’t come back here okay? You’re pregnant, you need to keep yourself safe. Siddiq’s walking me through what to do since I’m okay so far, but we just need someone to drop the supplies near Hilltop. We’ll do the rest. This shit is just too contagious. It’s bad here Maggie, we’ve lost three more people and-“

He cut himself off. Daryl watched Maggie steel herself to ask the question on both their minds.

“Dante? Why is Jesus not there?”

Dante sighed. “He’s sick Mags. _Really_ sick. I knew something wasn’t right! He was wearing himself out from the start and I knew he looked bad but he just said he was tired! Then after he contacted Michonne he just... collapsed. Couldn’t breathe ‘cause he was choking on blood!”

A hand grabbed his arm, keeping him upright when he was sure he’d have dropped to the fucking floor. Daryl hadn’t even noticed Rick come in. His instincts were going crazy, body wanting to run and fight and shut down all at once.

“Is he stable now Dante?” Despite her pale face and visible fear, she still held it together.

“I think? Yeah, yeah as much as can be expected I suppose. But... I don’t know Maggie. I don’t know if anyone can come back from this. Not that far along. He’s- I think he might-“

“Dante,” she interrupted sharply. “Listen to me. We are going to get these supplies to you and you’ll all do exactly what Siddiq says. We’ll fight this. I just need you and everyone else not sick to keep it together okay?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled, audibly pulling himself together. “Yeah okay, we’ll keep it together. Just please get the medical supplies to us as quick as you can, we’ll do the rest. But just... be prepared okay?”

“Be safe Dante. We’ll be with you soon.”

The connection cut off and Maggie slumped in her seat, one arm wrapping around her bump whilst the one rubbed over her face. She looked tired. Defeated.

Grief stricken.

Dante’s words were going round and round Daryl’s head, the mental images they conjured twisting his stomach, nausea hitting him. The thought of Paul suffering, fucking _dying_ , was beyond comprehension, something that he should never experience outside of his most horrific nightmares. 

But it was real and there was only one thing to do. Whatever happened, Daryl needed to be there.

 

———

 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. All he could taste was blood and all he could feel was bone crushing aches. He was worried about something, he knew that much, but it was getting impossible to remember what it was. He tried to speak, tried to let the faint ghosts around him know that there was something important that he needed to do. Maybe a warning, maybe a goodbye. But they just kept pressing him back down.

 

———

 

Daryl was shouting, arguing, but he kept phasing in and out for it, barely hanging on to anything considering sane.

“You can’t tell me what to fuckin’ do Rick!”

“No I can’t, but I can damn well ask! It’s too dangerous to go in there right now. Take the supplies, sure, but going in is too big of a risk!”

“I don’t care!” He shouted back, panic surging through his body like a live wire.

“Well I do! We need you!”

“And I need _him_!”

His raw shout made Rick falter, the fight leaving him, only pity and sadness left behind. It was even worse. Like Paul was already dead.

“Daryl...” Rick stepped forward and put a hand on his arm, but Daryl just shrugged it off, breaths coming too quick. Surprisingly, the fact that Rick knew now, for sure, barely even registered. Every cell in his body was focused on one damn thing, he didn’t have space to worry or think about anything else.

Rick just kept looking at him, everyone else in the room silent, holding their breath. Whatever Rick saw in Daryl, he finally understood and nodded.

Carol stepped next to them. “Rick, no! You and I both know he won’t drop the supplies off and leave! He’ll stay and there’s too high of a chance for infection!”

Daryl was about to bite back about her speaking like he wasn’t there, like he was a kid she could speak for, but Rick interrupted before he could.

“It’s Daryl’s choice. I don’t like it but... I get it.”

Relief flooded through him so profound he would have teared up if he had any spare emotions left. Even with their current issues, Rick was still his brother, still knew him and cared. But Carol still didn’t accept it.

“Daryl, Jesus wouldn’t want this, he _didn’t_ want it! He was right and you can’t help him now and we can’t risk it spreading to the other communities. We have to do everything we can to stop that!”

Daryl turned on her, rage and worry lighting up his insides like someone shoved a firework down his throat, burning away any lines he wouldn’t usually cross.

“And what’re you gunna do then huh?” He spat. “You gunna let them stay in there till they’re all gone? Or will you ‘step up’ again, burn the whole place down.”

Carol froze, an expression on her face that Daryl knew would haunt him later. As it was, he was so angry, so scared that nothing else bothered him.

“He’s _dying_ Carol!” He choked out, voice breaking. “He’s alone and he’s dying! I’m goin’. Even if I can’t help, I’m goin’. Least I can do is take the supplies and just... be there.”

Carol was silent, worry and anger and hurt warring on her face. Somewhere deep inside him, he realised he’d crossed a line, using something like that against her. He’d just have to make amends later and hope it was enough.

“I think he should go,” Maggie said from her seat against the wall, the one she’d all but collapsed in after starting to feel dizzy. But even through her fear and old grief mixed with new, she was strong, still kept her head. It was no wonder Paul believed her to be the best leader he’d ever seen.

“It makes sense. Dante told Siddiq that J- that Jesus separated the sick from the healthy early on, but more kept catching it regardless. Now the healthy ones are tired and scared, not exactly the right kind of people to handle something like this. We need someone who’s steady and can follow Siddiq’s orders without panicking.”

“I’m going too.”

Everyone turned to stare at Siddiq, a stranger that quickly became family and an invaluable member of all the communities. He seemed determined and Daryl knew once he’d decided something, nothing would change that.

“No, we _really_ can’t risk you. We-“

“Rick, please,” Siddiq interrupted firmly. “It’s only right that I should go. I’m the doctor here, I know exactly what to do and how to deal with any complications that could arise. Daryl would follow my instructions and do it well, of that I have no doubt, but he can’t be expected to know what to do in a medical emergency. I do. If you want those people to survive, I’m their best shot.”

Daryl nodded at Siddiq, words not enough to show how grateful he was. Rick just sighed, but he knew it was the right call, everyone did. Daryl couldn’t help but look over at Maggie, knowing that she’d be thinking of her father.

After a moment of thought, a moment utterly wasted in Daryl’s opinion, Rick sighed and nodded. “Fine. Both of you get ready and head out, it’s not too late to set off and make it before dark.”

Daryl didn’t have anything to say to Rick, words were still difficult between them for now, but he clasped his shoulder for a second on his way past. He hoped it was enough. Maggie rose unsteadily to her feet, almost fighting off Michonne’s help, but it seemed there was still love there and she finally allowed it, their arms linked together as they headed towards the door. He’d no doubt have time to speak to her before he left.

Carol left without looking at him, without saying a thing. Despite his urgent, burning need to set off that exact second, he knew Siddiq was organising his supplies and Daryl just didn’t feel right leaving without apologising. Once upon a time he probably wouldn’t have bothered, would have just left it and hoped things got fixed between them anyhow. Personal growth was a thing with him now apparently, who the fuck would have guessed?

He hadn’t seen where she’d gone, but he had a pretty good idea, heading to her old digs with a sick feeling in his stomach. The door was shut, but he could hear faint noises inside; cupboards opening and jars clinking. Forcing down his anxiety, Daryl opened the door. He found her in the kitchen, wandering around it, probably remembering the times when she had to pull back on the too well fitting mask of helpful, dotty housewife who’s only skills were keeping them all fed and clothed.

The dissonance between who she was, what she’d had to do and who she was pretending to be was almost lethal to her, and he was grateful she’d finally found a place she could be all of herself and still feel loved, still feel accepted. He knew what it felt like to finally find that.

“‘M sorry.”

That made her look up at him. It wasn’t often he’d ever verbally apologised before and it made her stare right into him, like she was trying to figure out when he’d changed. But even if the words were out there, it still didn’t feel enough, not for what he’d said.

“Shouldn’t have said what I did. Was real shitty,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands and picking at the skin around his fingernails. “‘M just... scared. But I shouldn’t’a brought that up. Know you wouldn’t, I was just bein’ a dick. Don’t have to forgive me, just didn’t wanna leave with you thinkin’ I actually thought that.”

He heard her light footsteps come closer until she was right in front of him. She didn’t say anything and he didn’t look at her, but then her small, rough hand took hold of his and he couldn’t help but look up.

“I’m not going to pretend it didn’t hurt Daryl, it did. But I’m glad you came to talk to me. I didn’t expect you to. You’ve changed a lot you know? For the better.”

She smiled at him, small and soft and sad.

“I’m sorry this is happening Daryl. I’m sorry it’s Jesus. It isn’t fair.”

The pain in his chest got worse, jaw clenching as he tried to keep it together. He couldn’t fall apart yet, he was needed.

“I shouldn’t have tried to stop you,” she continued. “It’s not my place and it wasn’t the right thing to do. I just... I don’t want to lose you too Daryl, and I let that take over. But you need to be there, I know that. You need to be there to help them all, but especially him. And if he... if he can’t get better, you deserve to be there for that too.”

Daryl was sure he was going to choke on the lump in his throat, his free hand coming up to roughly scrub at his burning eyes before he was pulled down into Carol’s arms. Just like with Maggie, he let himself have that for a moment, to take strength from one of the most important people in his life. They’d always been connected, him and Carol, even when they were apart. They understood each other and she was the first person to really try to know him and to let him know himself. They had a bit of each other’s soul in theirs, of that he was sure.

After a moment, she pulled away slightly and put a hand on the back of his head, pulling him down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m so proud of you Daryl, whatever happens.”

 

———

 

Fuck is was so cold, so dark. He was sure there were people nearby but he felt so _alone_. Totally adrift in the empty, shadowy space he found himself. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t break free of it. He was just so damn tired now. Nothing seemed to matter so much any more.

 

———

 

They left not a half hour later, Daryl on his bike with Siddiq following in his supply stuffed car. Maggie’s words were ringing in his ears as the wind rushed past him.

“Thank you for being there,” she’d said, tears in her eyes that she wouldn’t allow to fall, not then. “I’m glad you’ll be there for all of them but... especially him. If the worst happens, I’m glad he won’t be alone. I’m glad he’ll have you to hold his hand and talk to him. It’s what I wish I could have done for Glenn.”

She’d sent him off with hope too of course, the same stubborn hope they were both clinging too, but it was those words that stuck with him. 

He gunned his bike faster, hoping to outrun the possibility that he might actually have to do that; might actually have to face that Paul was too far gone to get better, that he might have to watch him _die_. Death had always snuck up on him before, cloaked in shadow and unexpected, pulling the people he cared about away from him in the blink of an eye.

The slow, creeping march of it coming for Paul was worse, was beyond words. But he would fight it every damn step of the way.

The journey to Hilltop had never felt so long before, not even during the darkest days of the war. Every moment stretched to a lifetime and he was constantly waiting for something to go wrong; a herd would come and slow them down, Siddiq’s tires would go, maybe Daryl’s too, a fucking freak storm. It felt like even the tiniest hold up would result in Paul just... leaving. Going too far away for him to ever reach.

There were too many things left unsaid, too many things he was too afraid to say or think or feel. Or do. Paul _needed_ to get better, he was too important, not just to Daryl but to everyone, to the new world they were all building. If Paul died, Daryl knew the world would never see the likes of him again.

When the gates of Hilltop came into view at last, Daryl could barely keep his bike under control, legs shaking with desperation to get inside as quick as possible, mixed with absolute terror over what he might find. But the gates remained shut, even though someone had surely heard his bike and Siddiq’s car. Irrational thoughts of a colony full of corpses attacked his mind.

“Hey! Hello?” He shouted up. “Open the gates! It’s Daryl and Siddiq!”

For a moment there was nothing, Daryl’s heart pounding in his chest, before he heard the blessed sound of feet pounding up the wooden stairs on the wall and saw Dante appear.

“Daryl? Shit, you weren’t supposed to come here man! You need to drop the supplies and go okay? We got this.”

“Hell no. Maggie cleared us, so get that fuckin’ gate open now!”

He didn’t care if he sounded harsh or that he snapped at someone just doing their best, if those gates weren’t open in the next few seconds he’d blast them open.

“Fuck, alright, okay.”

Dante ran his hand roughly over his hair and moved out of sight, the heavy doors of Hilltop swinging open minutes later. Daryl started up his bike and shot inside, some irrational part of him hoping Paul would hear it and come out to meet him. Whenever Daryl had been gone for a few days, Paul would always be there waiting for him, as soon as he heard that bike. 

But of course, this time, he didn’t. This time all that Daryl came back to, came _home_ to, was an empty, desolated Hilltop.

He heard Siddiq pull the car up behind him and start gathering his gear, talking to Dante all the while, but Daryl just couldn’t bring himself to stop looking around. Hilltop just looked wrong. It was always such a buzz of activity, people coming and going everywhere, the noise of working and life filling the air. Now it was almost echoing in its empty silence. 

“Daryl?”

Dante’s voice made him focus, turning to one of Maggie’s most trusted helpers. He looked tired, worn down to the bone but thankfully, not sick.

“Where is everyone?”

Dante sighed. “Everyone left who isn’t sick is in Barrington. We’re trying to keep them there, where it’s safe, but it’s not easy. The rest are in the medical trailer and when that filled up, we had to clear out the storage trailer too but... well, they can all fit in the medical trailer again now.”

So they’d lost even more then.

Siddiq jumped into action, voice calm and commanding as he asked Dante questions and asked for his help collecting water and whatever the fuck else they needed. Daryl wasn’t even listening. All he could do was keep staring at the medical trailer and pointedly ignoring the sad, pitying looks Dante kept shooting at him.

Paul was in that trailer. He was sick, dying, and Daryl was only a few strides away but now found he couldn’t move. Once he went in there, it would be real. He’d have to see how bad Paul was, would have to watch and help Siddiq try to make him better. And if he couldn’t, he really would have to watch him die. He was violently aware that was a possibility, had been since he was in Alexandria, but with it so real and so close, he wasn’t sure he could do it. What would be left of him if he had to watch Paul die? How much of him would he _want_ to be left?

Siddiq and Dante swept past him, arms full of medical supplies and entered the trailer. Still he just couldn’t move. Without his say so, his eyes moved in the direction he knew Glenn and Abraham’s graves to be. They didn’t get to have someone sitting next to them, holding their hand and talking to them as they died; instead they got pain and fear and their family watching on in silent horror as the life was beaten out of them.

His feet unglued from the floor. Slowly, each step almost causing him actual physical pain, he moved towards the trailer, steps getting quicker until finally, he was in front of the door. He could hear horrible coughing coming from inside and the odd groan, as well as Siddiq’s gentle voice.

Daryl opened the door.

It was dark inside, the light limited to dull camping lanterns and the few windows covered. It smelt like sickness; like sweat and blood, that familiar scent reminding him too much of the prison, yet another time that their hard earned life was torn from them. Once his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he started to recognise people.

Al was first, one of the reformed Saviours who’d admittedly helped Hilltop a great deal, his face pale and sweaty but eyes open, coughing and answering Siddiq’s questions in a voice so horse he could barely be heard. Then there was Clarice, a sweet woman who worked wonders in their gardens, totally unconscious. Kal, his usual energy and attitude gone, leaving him still and silent. Earl looked uncharacteristically small and weak, no sign of his usual strength and quiet kindness. Jenna, the joyful glint in her eye hidden beneath a feverish haze. They were all so fucking _sick_.

Daryl moved past them in a daze once his eyes fixed on the last bed in the trailer.

The man in the bed looked nothing like the man Daryl knew. It was Paul but it _wasn’t_ ; none of the spark he always carried showing through, just a sick body unconscious on the bed. There were speckles of blood on the pillow next to him.

He was paler than Daryl had ever seen him, even at the tail end of the war when he’d been running on a few hours of sleep for days of being awake, all except for the fever flush of his cheeks. He was shirtless, probably in an effort to bring his temperature down, making every wheezing, desperate gasp for air obvious. His normally perfect hair, not that Daryl would ever be caught dead admitting it, was lank and messy, all tangled on the pillow with little strands sticking to the sweat on his skin.

Daryl was already reaching down to fix it before he realised he’d thought to. He moved the hair stuck to his face, trying desperately to ignore the heat coming off him, then gently lifted his head ever so slightly, gathering all the tangled hair and moving it to the left side. He didn’t move away when he’d finished, he couldn’t, he just sat on the edge of Paul’s bed and kept looking at him, his fingers still touching his hair.

Did he even know Daryl was there? Did he know he wasn’t alone?

“Paul,” he muttered, mindful of the heavy weight of silence in the trailer. “It’s Daryl. ‘M here okay? ‘M here.”

With nothing more to do until Siddiq made his way over, he quietly got up and moved the closest stool next to Paul’s bed and sat, settling in for the long haul. No doubt he had things he could be doing, ways he could be helping, but the sight of Paul looking so fucking sick in that bed erased all other thoughts, all other feelings of duty. He needed to be there for him.

Mindless of anyone else in the room, not caring that they could see, he gently took hold of Paul’s hand, threading his fingers through the still ones. They fit so perfectly. He’d never bought into any of the mushy, romantic bullshit that books and movies liked to pedal, never thought that there was anyone out there actually meant or made for him, but the way Paul’s hand fit into his almost made him change his mind.

Pain and fear contracted his chest, tightening his airways with the realisation that he could not lose him, not now, not _ever_. He brought their joined hands up to his face, pressing a rough kiss to the back of Paul’s too warm hand, letting it stay against his lips as he tried to just breathe.

Paul had been wrong. There wasn’t always more time.

If it hadn’t been for his stupid fear, Daryl could have know what it was like to kiss him, just once, before all of this. At least he’d have had that.

They’d been saying goodbye when it nearly happened; both of them in their trailer as the pale morning light came through the trailer windows. It was the longest they’d have been apart since the war and neither were happy about it, though Paul had tried to make light of it, joking about finally getting the full use of the couch back. As if they both didn’t enjoy sprawling on either side of it, legs tangled in the middle as they read or talked or sat in silence. Daryl could have gone along with it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to, not in the peaceful, safe space of their home, the rest of the world locked outside.

So instead, he’d allowed himself to be honest, to put into words that he would actually miss Paul, that he wished he didn’t have to go or that Paul could come too. That he didn’t feel right without Paul around.

They weren’t especially profound words, they weren’t like the poetry in Paul’s books, but they were honest, and as always, Paul had understood that. The silence had hung for a second, Paul seeming to internally debate something, before he blurted out that he was just going to hug Daryl.

When he’d slowly wrapped his arms around Daryl, he was hit with the most profound sense of belonging he’d ever felt. It was impossible not to return the hold, pulling Paul to him and holding on, breathing in the smell of Paul’s hair, shivering at the breath against his neck, feeling the way Paul slowly rubbed his thumb against his back. It felt so right, so safe, that he never wanted to leave, never wanted to give it up. He wanted _more_.

Daryl had pulled away slightly, Paul following his lead but stopping when he realised Daryl wasn’t trying to get away. Daryl knew what he wanted, he just didn’t know how to ask, didn’t know how to make the first move, but Paul did. Daryl watched as his eyes widened slightly, gaze fixing on Daryl’s, reading the very heart of him and understanding. He’d leant in and Daryl held his breath, heart pounding harder than it ever had before, so full of life and nerves and hope and want.

They’d been so, so close when Maggie banged on their door and called Daryl’s name.

He’d jumped and pulled back, and Paul had let him go. With the space between them and the seconds moving on, the fear had come back and even if he’d known he could step right back towards Paul, he just couldn’t. If he kissed Paul, there’d be no going back from that, no pretending it didn’t happen or taking it back, no possible hope of saving himself from the utter desolation he’d feel should anything ever happen to Paul.

The moment passed.

Daryl had grabbed his bag and headed for the door, avoiding Paul’s eye as his stomach twisted. He was stopped by a hand grabbing his. He’d turned and finally looked at Paul, seeing nothing but understanding in his eyes.

Then Paul had told him that he’d be waiting for him to come back. That there was always time.

Now, looking at him lying on the bed, sick, maybe even dying, Daryl knew he’d do anything to go back to that morning and make a different choice. Because more time was never a guarantee, not in their world.

The world moved forward as he sat there, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, but each second dragging into a lifetime until he finally heard Siddiq and Dante come towards them.

“Daryl,” he began gently. “I need to examine him now okay? Get the medication and treatment started. I’m going to do my best to get him better, you have my word.”

He didn’t want to let go. The irrational part of his brain was sure if he let go of Paul’s hand, he’d just... leave.

“Come on Daryl.” Dante spoke gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. Daryl watched Paul’s hitching, pained breathing and finally managed to make himself let go, placing Paul’s hand gently back down on the bed and standing. He stayed long enough to watch Siddiq take his temperature and frown, a dark look on his face when he checked his breathing, before Dante managed to lead him out of the medical trailer.

The fresh, late evening air hit him and he had to make his was over to the closest bench on shaking legs, dropping onto the seat and breathing deep. It was just so _wrong_. Nobody at Hilltop deserved this, nobody deserved to die, not from something like a virus, not after they’d made it through hell. It didn’t make sense. 

Dante sat heavily on the other side of the bench with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked exhausted, obviously from taking over Paul’s role, but had somehow managed to avoid catching the virus thank fuck. Daryl had never been sure what to make of Dante at first, of any of them really, but he knew him now and he was good people.

“What happened?” Daryl mumbled. They’d only really heard bits, just the small snippets of information they’d needed, but Daryl had to know more, had to know exactly what happened. Dante sighed again, but told him anyway.

Daryl winced at every name of the people who’d died, heart hurting as memories of each one surfaced. The quick onset of the virus was so familiar it was like going back in time, as was many of the symptoms, old memories plastering themselves on the faces of people he’d come to care so much for. And because Dante obviously knew something, or at least heavily suspected, he told Daryl about Paul.

He’d been brave, strong, always in control and someone to look to. As if there was any doubt about that, as if that wasn’t his overriding instinct; to help, to protect, to quietly and thanklessly take on every burden that he could. Of course, that had come at his expense.

Daryl could see it perfectly as Dante spoke, could see exactly how tired Paul would have been and how he’d have used that as an explanation for everything, all while hiding the cough and the pain and the blood. Right until he couldn’t anymore.

“I hadn’t seen him in a while,” Dante continued, eyes downcast and voice subdued, avoiding Daryl’s eyes like he thought it was his fault, like Daryl might _blame_ him.

“Then I remembered he was trying to contact Alexandria in his spare time. I was coming up the hall when I heard... when I heard him cough and cough. Then a thump. I ran in and he was just on the floor, choking on all this blood and making the most horrible noise. Then he just stopped. I thought he’d died. I got him on his side and hit his back, tried to clear away the blood. It worked thank God. But he hasn’t been right since then. In and out of consciousness and fighting us until a few hours ago. He hasn’t come round since.”

Fucking hell. As much as Daryl wished he’d been there with Paul, he was immeasurably glad he didn’t have to watch that. Hearing about it was bad enough.

“I’m sorry Daryl,” Dante mumbled.

“Ain’t your fault,” he managed to force out in response.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m _sorry_ Daryl. It’s not fair.”

Dante finally looked up, sorrow and pity and grief plain to see on Dante’s face. It made Daryl’s throat close up; it was like Paul was already dead, everyone treating him as mourner in chief. He was going to make it very clear that Paul was still alive, still fighting and it’d damn well stay that way, when Siddiq poked his head out of the trailer and nodded at Daryl. Then nothing else mattered but returning to Paul’s side.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from patting Dante’s shoulder as he went by. “Get some rest. And... thanks for everything.” He meant it too, the guy had stepped up, kept it going since Paul was sick. He owed him.

Then he stepped back into the trailer, back to the bedside vigil.

 

———

 

He didn’t know why, but he didn’t feel alone anymore. He felt further away from everything with every passing moment, but there was a faint feeling of safety. He wanted to find where it came from, wanted to follow that feeling. But he couldn’t, it was impossible, he was too far down in the dark, in the cold. No matter how much he fought, something was pressing him down, keeping him away. He was just so _tired_. It was so hard to remember why he was fighting to wake up now. He’d done his best, he’d tried. Maybe it was just time to sleep.

 

———

 

The hours passed slowly, taking Jenna with them. He’d let go of Paul briefly to rush over and try to help, Siddiq doing all he could to save her, but in the end it just wasn’t enough. He left the doctor to say a prayer and stop her turning, covering her with a sheet until Dante turned up half an hour later, the two of them carrying her out to the spare trailer where they kept the two bodies from yesterday that still needed to be buried.

Paul hadn’t woken up once, hadn’t done anything other than struggle to breathe as they tried to bring his temperature down, to keep him going long enough for the meds to kick in. Having to sit there and watch Paul’s chest stutter and struggle to get oxygen in and out, that horrible wet wheezing ringing in his ears, was a new level of hell for Daryl. He wasn’t sure anything could sound worse than that.

Until it stopped.

The world titled sideways, pain and panic hitting Daryl as he jumped up, stool tipping to the ground behind him as his hands hovered over Paul’s chest. There was blood in his mouth, little trickles escaping his lips and staining his chin. Daryl didn’t know what to do.

“Siddiq! Get in here _now_!” He shouted, not caring how loud he was, his only focus on Paul. Siddiq threw open the door of the trailer and ran in, Dante following close behind, his eyes widening as he saw Paul. Siddiq thankfully sprang into action.

“Dante! Get the intubation kit and the bag valve mask! Hopefully we won’t need it. Okay Daryl, help me tilt him on his side, we need to clear the blood.”

Daryl reacted immediately, helping Siddiq get Paul on his side and just about choking down an animal noise of pain when he started thumping Paul on his back, blood spraying from his mouth with each hit.

Still he didn’t breathe.

“Dante, pass me- no, that one, the one with the bag on the end.”

Daryl could barely focus on what Siddiq and Dante were saying, eyes fixed on Paul’s still chest. It was agony to watch, agony to know that with every second, he was slipping further and further away from him. He didn’t know what to do. Siddiq placed a mask over Paul’s mouth and nose, starting to steadily compress the bag attached to it, forcing breath into Paul’s chest.

“Dante, check his pulse, tell me if it slows or stops.”

Daryl’s head shot up in barely restrained panic. Seeing Paul stop breathing was hell enough, the thought of his heart stopping was unbearable. He wanted desperately to hold him, to touch him, to talk to him, but he knew he’d only be in the way, Siddiq controlling the situation and ordering Dante about with firm, steady precision. But no matter what he was doing, it didn’t seem to be working; Paul’s chest still refused to rise on its own.

“Siddiq,” came Dante’s rapidly more worried by the second voice. “I think it’s slowing!”

“Don’t panic, just keep monitoring.”

Daryl felt like he couldn’t breathe, like they needed to put that fucking bag over his face too. He watched as Siddiq continued to steadily breathe for Paul and tried his best to ignore Dante and the growing panic on his face.

“It’s stopped!”

“Shit.”

Surely Daryl’s body was mirroring Paul’s right now, as Dante’s shout made his own heart stop in his chest. He watched, numb to everything but terror as Siddiq jumped into action, ordering Dante to take over the bag and squeeze when he told him, before starting chest compressions. He’d never been bothered by the sight of them before, never thought he’d ever consider himself squeamish, but it deeply unsettled something in him to see Siddiq pressing down so hard on Paul’s chest. The fact the man didn’t even react was even worse.

Daryl couldn’t stay back any longer. Dodging around Siddiq, he crouched behind Paul’s head, smoothing his hair back, touching his cheeks, his jittery hands not knowing what to do, just knowing he had to touch him.

“Come on Paul,” he whispered, voice so choked with fear he barely recognised it, dipped in desperation and pleading. “Don’t go. Please. We need ya. I need ya. You said we had time, remember? Don’t be a liar Paul, not to me. _Please_ don’t go.”

Daryl kept up his mindless pleas, ignoring the sound of a rib cracking as Siddiq continued with chest compressions, Dante squeezing the bag when instructed, the two of them working together to save Paul whilst all Daryl could do was watch and try not to break apart.

The thought of having to leave the trailer without Paul, to go on living knowing that he’d never see that smile again, or hear him talk, or watch him read, was too much to even begin to imagine actually living through. It just seemed so impossible, so against the very laws of nature for there to be a world without Paul in it. For _his_ world not to have Paul in it.

He roughly scrubbed at his wet eyes, pressing his forehead to Paul’s. “Don’t leave me Paul, don’t do that to me. Ya got a family here now. Don’t make us miss you too.”

Still nothing. Then...

If the sound of Paul stopping breathing was the worst in the world, nothing could ever sound as wonderful as the choking inhale that seemed to fill the whole room as he finally, _finally_ started breathing again.

“Oh thank God,” came Dante’s relieved voice, removing the mask as he almost collapsed backwards, leaning against the closest wall as Siddiq went about checking Paul’s heart and breathing before he too relaxed, his smile like a breath of fresh air when he turned to Daryl and nodded.

If Daryl forgot to keep trying to wipe away his tears at that moment, he honestly didn’t even notice, too overcome with relief. He wouldn’t have cared if the entire world was watching, eagle eyed and judgmental on his emotional break down, he was simply to bone shatteringly thankful.

Siddiq and Dante left him where he was, retreating to the other side of the trailer, letting Daryl once again move to the chair beside Paul’s bed. His skin was still pale, there was blood around the corner of his mouth and in his hair, but his chest was moving. It was moving and his heart was beating and he was _alive_.

He wasn’t out of the woods yet, the meds still had to kick in and fight of the virus, but after watching all that, after seeing Paul come back, he knew he’d be okay. Daryl was so relieved he was almost delirious with it, hardly knowing if he should laugh or cry or move or collapse.

Instead, he just took hold of Paul’s hand once more, pressing kisses to it, fighting off his sudden exhaustion as he settled back in to wait. No matter what came next, Daryl refused to be a coward any longer, refused to fight his feelings or hide them away. For the first time in a long time, he actually wanted a future, and he wanted the man in front of him to be right at the heart of it.

 

———

 

Waking up was, in all honestly, a genuine surprise. When he’d collapsed outside the coms room, Paul was sure it was the end.

He came to consciousness slowly and groggily, every cell in his body aching, his chest in particular. As he cracked an eye open and looked down, he saw why; there were bandages on his chest, more than likely someone had cracked a rib doing chest compressions. Fuck.

His lungs felt raw and full of acid, the disgusting taste of old blood in his mouth. But still, he was actually _alive_.

“Good to see you back with us Jesus.”

Paul looked up at the hushed voice, seeing Siddiq stood to the side and fiddling with an IV bag that was apparently attached to him. Wait, surely Siddiq shouldn’t be here.

“Why are y-“

“-try not to talk okay? Just rest. It was touch and go for a while, we nearly lost you. But the meds are kicking in and you’ll soon start feeling better. So take it easy okay? I don’t think Daryl could survive much more worry.”

Daryl? Paul would have shot out of bed in panic if he had any energy. He wasn’t supposed to come! He was supposed to stay safe! Where was h-

Oh. When Paul tried to move his hand, he realised it was trapped in the gentle but firm grip of the man in question. He must be worse off than he’d thought, not to notice a sleeping Daryl in the chair beside him, all bent over with his head resting on the mattress near Paul’s hip. From what he could see of his face, Daryl was exhausted, dark circles even more prominent around his eyes.

“He’s hasn’t left your side for two days,” Siddiq continued. “He fought like hell for us to even be here at all and it’s a good thing we were. So don’t get mad at him for ignoring the quarantine.”

Paul wanted to be, he really did, the thought of Daryl not only having to see Hilltop at its worst and nearly watch him _die_ by the sounds of it, but also exposing himself to the virus, sent shivers of cold terror through him. But a bigger part of him was just so damn happy he was here. So instead he just nodded at Siddiq and forced out a croaked thanks, not surprised that their only real doctor would risk himself like that but immensely grateful anyway.

“How’s... everyone?”

“If I tell you will you stop talking and rest?”

Paul nodded, even as Siddiq sighed and rolled his eyes at his innocent expression. They both knew damn well he’d be up as soon as physically possible.

“Well it wasn’t good,” he said solemnly. “We lost one more since you got sick, Jenna, but everyone else is already improving. Earl actually left earlier today in fact, he’s in his trailer resting but I’m sure he’ll be back to his regular self soon. You’ve been harder to fix, since you worked yourself half to death.” Siddiq glared at him, quiet voice taking on a scolding tone.

“From what I can tell, the virus started with Mrs Williams and spread initially due to her still cooking before she realised she was sick. After that it just kept spreading like wildfire. But we’re over the worst of it now and we won’t lose anyone else.”

Relied flooded through Paul, just as strong as the sickly, crippling guilt and grief. They’d lost so many, to a fucking _virus_. It wasn’t fair. And despite logically knowing it was stupid, he couldn’t help but feel like he should have been able to stop it.

“We contacted Maggie this morning but we won’t let her return until all traces of the virus are gone. Though I’m still tempted to make her stay away until the baby’s born, just to be safe. Don’t worry though, we have it all under control. I’m going to leave you to rest now. Actually do it please. The better you look after yourself the sooner you’ll be back out there helping.”

Paul nodded at him with a smile as Siddiq patted him on the shoulder and moved back down the trailer, bending down to check on Al, the other man sitting up and drinking something. The rest of the trailers occupants looked just as on the mend, something that brought so much relief to him he could have cried.

Instead, he just looked back down at the sleeping man by his side. 

Fuck, he was so glad he got to see him again, so unbelievably grateful that he didn’t have to leave him or leave Maggie. Whilst he’d always had excellent self preservation skills and instincts, there was still a fairly sizeable part of himself that just didn’t much care if he ended up dying. He didn’t have anyone to miss or who’d miss him, so why should he stress about when his time might run out? He’d try his best and fight to the end, but whatever happened, so be it.

But now, for the first time in his life, Paul had people he wanted to stay for, wanted to live for. He had friends spread out over the communities, all of them working together to help build their new world. He had a best friend, a sister who he loved more than life, and he was always so unbelievably grateful that fate brought them together.

And he had Daryl, the first person he’d ever truly loved, the person he wanted to have a life with if he was allowed. From the way Daryl was clutching at his hand, Paul thought he might have a chance. He’d always been willing to wait for Daryl, and still would, but maybe he’d realised it was okay to be who he was and to let someone love him. Maybe even let himself love someone back.

After a few more minutes of watching Daryl sleep, Paul realised he was utterly exhausted and probably couldn’t keep his eyes open for another minute. He wasn’t afraid to sleep this time though, as he was sure he’d wake up and Daryl would still be there, still waiting for him. So he simple gently squeezed Daryl’s hand, settled back into the pillows and dropped immediately into sleep.

And sure enough, when he woke again later, the early morning lighting up the trailer with pale golds, Paul felt a hand in his hair, gently untangling it and setting it carefully on the pillow.

He opened his eyes and looked at Daryl, the other man staring at him with so much relief and happiness and... love. There was so much to say, so much to ask and to promise, but Paul was too tired for all that yet, so he said the only thing he could think to.

“Told you we had time.”

Daryl paused before his face finally cracked into a smile. It was the most beautiful thing Paul had ever seen. Then he bent down and pressed a kiss to Paul’s forehead, so gentle and full of feeling that it made his throat close up.

“Yeah,” Daryl muttered against his skin. “Yeah we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there we go!! Hope you liked it Syrabylene!!! Rol on the next one! 
> 
> As I said, it’s hardly top notch on medical accuracy, but I hope it was passable enough! 
> 
> Really enjoyed doing this prompt! Love a bit of suffering I do! Let me know what you guys thought, my sensitive writer soul shrivels and dies without feedback xD xxxx

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from the absolutely amazing Syrabylene who’s been nothing but pure joy, enthusiasm and encouragement. You are fantastic and I hope so much that you enjoy this! 
> 
> I am not in anyway a medical professional, so please suspend your disbelief! I’ve been as medically informed as google has allowed me to be, but we’re all reading TWD fanfic here, so hopefully any errors can be forgiven! 
> 
> Oh, and the times of Daryl and Jesus’ POV’s are meant to be out of sync. I think it builds more tension that way :) 
> 
> Last chapter will be posted tomorrow! Hope you enjoyed this! Please drop me a line, as comments really are the oil that keeps my wheels moving! Xxxx


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